


tenderise

by wintercelestial



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Aftercare, BSDM, Drabble, Impact Play, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28649544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercelestial/pseuds/wintercelestial
Summary: the best part of bdsm is the aftercare.
Relationships: Barbatos/Diavolo/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Barbatos/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Diavolo/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Kudos: 77





	tenderise

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted from tumblr! unedited and written for the prompt: "Both Dia and Barb are experts with aftercare. Taking care of Lucifer and Diavolo giving him cuddles."

the enchanted lock opens under barbatos’s touch, obeying the call of its master’s magic.

lucifer doesn’t rouse from his blissed-out state on the bed. not even as the chains around his wrists and ankles fall slack, the solid links jangling when diavolo picks them up to toss away. he stirs slightly when they hit the floors but otherwise nothing, his face still buried in a pillow and belly flat against the sheets.

he inadvertently smiles when the space behind him dips with the familiar weight of a body. diavolo leans down to drop a kiss behind lucifer’s ear, nuzzling at the warmth, inhaling the scent of his hair.

“bath?” diavolo murmurs. he tucks a strand of black hair behind the curve of an ear.

“too sore,” lucifer sighs, and no sooner than a moment later does barbatos appear with a basin of steaming water, towel and washcloths folded over an arm. already bathed, dressed and immaculate again. 

“let me, then.” still naked, diavolo plucks a proffered towel from barbatos’s forearm and soaks it in the water. the stark whiteness turns the palest shade of red as he gently dabs at lucifer’s back, dried blood becoming wet anew.

lucifer furrows an eyebrow, but it doesn’t bother him. he’s used to diavolo being overenthusiastic with the claws of his demon form – and it’s nothing compared to the pain barbatos likes to dish out when he has his hands on a whip.

the warm softness of the washcloth almost lulls lucifer into a sleep with the sweetest dreams. diavolo’s fingers touch him as if he’s made of marble. his neck and shoulders are rinsed of the sticky sweat that dapples them, his lower back wiped clean of the remnants of diavolo’s seed. dimly, lucifer wonders when they will reach-

“ _ouch_.”

he winces hard, involuntarily pulling a leg away from barbatos’s hands. he looks to diavolo as if to seek his comfort, and diavolo wrings pink water out of a washcloth before setting the basin down on the ground.

“let him.” diavolo nods, and lucifer relaxes at the command that is, oddly, soothing. it whispers promises of being cared for.

“well done,” barbatos says quietly, when lucifer slowly leans into his touch again. gentle and comforting, an almost mismatch to his cool and stoic mask of duty.

he raises a hand to his mouth and removes a glove with his teeth, dropping it on the bed. one hand holds lucifer’s leg in place as barbatos applies salve to the long, raised welts criss-crossed over the back of lucifer’s thighs.

lucifer sucks in a breath through his teeth but he remains silent, breathing evenly and forcing his mind to distract itself from the pain. diavolo’s thumb rubs against his cheek in reassurance.

barbatos works quickly on the aftermath of his heavy whipping, fingers skimming over each angry, red welt as if he’s memorizing each one. lucifer’s submissive groans and demands for more still echo in the depths of his mind.

his sadistic tendencies and talent for torture seem to hold hands in the strangest of ways.

“all done,” he says, screwing the lid back on the pot of salve. he smiles down at his handiwork. “very good, lucifer. the perfect picture of obedience. if only every demon at the end of my whip behaved like you…”

the thought of being one rung on the ladder above the rest makes lucifer preen with satisfaction. he doesn’t know who the others are, nor does he care. they’re probably dungeon prisoners and far, far below him. he’s _better_ than them, and his pride sings like a bird at dawn.

barbatos takes the dirtied water in the basin away and diavolo gingerly rolls lucifer over to wash his front side. there’s something in the ointment that numbs the pain long enough for them to finish their rigorous aftercare routine, not that diavolo would ever permit anything less than absolute worship after a session this intense.

barbatos keeps a barely-conscious lucifer warm in the bed while diavolo bathes. lucifer’s mind wanders, pulled back to reality if he shifts his thighs too much, and dropping off again as barbatos purrs dark praise into his ear. he finally drifts off after diavolo returns and he’s wedged safely between their bodies, covers drawn up to his chin. 


End file.
